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Disclaimer/Warning: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is slash - male x male relationships. It also contains femmeslash - female x female relationships. If this offends you or doesn't suit your fancy in any way, then do not read below this warning and the future chapters. The concept is quite simple, and a bad review on this particular topic will only make you look like an ass. Thanks!

Author's Note: This is dedicated to those who are in situations similar to mine; living with extremely religious/homophobic parents who badger or preach to you whenever a gay person is mentioned or seen. This is dedicated to those who read/write slash or femmeslash with periodical glances over their shoulder, knowing friends and loved ones are watching, wary of your secretive nature. This is dedicated to those who, even knowing the all of the risks, still believe wholeheartedly in the right to be with whomever is chosen for a certain person, not matter the sexual orientation, and strongly enough to never give that belief up.

Chapter Seven – The Secretive Nature of a Troubled Soul

Harry was torn. But he was going to go a step further to emphasize how he really felt.

Harry was ripped to pieces. Harry was decimated, his atoms scattered to the four winds.

Harry was feeling ecstatic, disgusted, jealous, furious, and apprehensive all at the same time.

And not necessarily in that order.

Harry was losing his goddamn mind.

He had been standing in the same spot like a statue for the last ten minutes, staring at the exit door where a powerful leg had closed it shut, and was even beginning to garner stares with the ever-changing expressions on his face. How the fuck did this happen? One moment he was running like a madman – again – away from Ron, Seamus, and Dean to keep his bag from being searched, and the next he was sharing his beloved candy with Draco Malfoy, trying not to climax from their second brush of skin, and laughing at the hilarity that was Draco carrying Parkinson out of the Arthurian.

Oh, and of course the fact that Pansy Parkinson caught Harry mid-stare at Draco's precious posterior shan't be forgotten, either. Being the complete and utter idiot he knew himself to be, he lost control with both of them still in the room. He hadn't even screwed up enough of that 'Gryffindor Courage' to come out to his friends, and now Parkinson, Goddess of Gossip for the Slytherins knew that he, at the bare minimum, lusted for Malfoy?

Bloody hell!

No wonder apprehension was gnawing away at his insides.

With a depressed 'Merlin!' muttered and a hand on his forehead, Harry slowly sunk to the ground, his legs stretched out on either side to form a 'W' of sorts with his lean frame. He leaned shaking arms onto the tops of his knees; his blushing countenance soon became buried in the cradle of his hands. The stares grew, but soon lost interest when he moved no more.

Harry was beginning to see the colorful circles of light from pressing one's eyes too hard against a surface, but he didn't care. All he felt was dread at the times to come, for he knew for a fact that Parkinson couldn't, and wouldn't, keep the observation to herself.

And jealously. A raw, all consuming jealously at the fact that the girl got to be forcibly carried out by the gorgeous Draco. What he would give to be in that position – body vulnerably balanced over a broad shoulder, face near his ass, groin pressed flush against his built chest…

Was he shaking because of the dread or the lust?

"Harry?"

Neither. He was shaking because of the paralyzing fear that struck him faster than the speed of light.

"Harry, are you alright?"

Clutching the satchel still slung over his tense shoulder, Harry looked up from his place on the floor to see a concerned Hermione making her way towards him. His eyes widened; any closer and she would be able to see just how 'troubled' he was!

I have to get out of here! he thought as he scrambled off of the floor. Hermione was suddenly in front of him. "What's the matter? You've looked like you've seen a Dementor!"

I can't leave her here…

"I'll be back!"

Harry sprinted for the fourth time that day.

---

He couldn't be near such an intelligent girl without her finding out exactly what was the matter with him. It was the very reason why he fled to the fourth floor of the Diagon Alley Arthurian; every inch of the barely used space was for clandestine meetings and important rendezvous'. After thoroughly checking the area for any meetings, Harry settled himself at a closed off workstation, threw his satchel on its dusty surface, and grabbed blindly at the writing utensils that littered the bottom of the bag. His hands shook; his breath was labored. Images – vivid, full-color, high definition type of images – were crowding his brain, jumbling his thoughts/hopes/dreams/fears—twisting them into something entirely new, something strange, something…forbidden.

Wanted, but forbidden.

And certainly unrequited.

He suddenly found himself unable to picture any aspect of his life without Draco Malfoy. The most random thought could somehow be connected to the boy in a positive way. It wasn't about lust anymore. It was about lo—

Don't even think about it, Potter.

Abandoning the act of thinking, since it only served to harm his well-being as opposed to help, Harry dipped the familiar quill in his green ink and began to write. He was trying something new – dark, but realistic. A bit of romance, but with a kinkiness factor. And he thought of the perfect title.

Drunken Debauchery

Hooray.

Voldemort was defeated. Harry Potter saved us all. No more Death Eaters. No more killings. No more evil. Our world has been saved.

If he heard those phrases one more time, he was liable to end up in Azkaban for murdering the screaming fans around him, starting with the women and children. He was no hero. He was not powerful. He sliced off Voldemort's head with a dagger and a satisfied, yet fanatical look on his face.

In terms of magic, he should have lost; he should have died when Voldemort, once again, aimed the killing curse right at his prone, battered body, and he should have died when the curse, once again, hit its target dead on.

How was he living today? How was he relatively free of any physical scarring, even after having the killing curse hit him at full power and without a loving mother to rebound the attack?

A forbidden love.

A small shred of hope that maybe, just maybe, after the encounter was over and he recovered, that the person he was madly in love with would put their differences aside to have him.

Ha.

As if that was going to happen…ever.

Now that the battle was over, he had no more need for his Gryffindorish courage, nor the need to be reckless and act before thinking. He was going to listen to his Slytherin side: logic over emotion, calm observation over foolish bravery…

Realism over optimism.

Cradling his Infe - a clever mixture of Firewhiskey, red wine, wolf's blood, and lime - Harry stumbled through the throngs of celebrating people with disgusted amusement. He wanted to laugh at their blissful ignorance - their misplaced joy. He wanted to show them of the struggle and the heartache that came along with the defeat and see if they would be making fools of themselves after they saw.

He downed the rest of his Infe, savoring the trail of fire in its wake and the shocking frost afterwards. An automatic refill made him chuckle briefly, and with another huge gulp of the liquid, he burst into the nearest empty house and put up a strong silencing charm to block the incessant noise.

At least he thought it was empty.

Before his eyes was Draco Malfoy, Death Eater Spy Extraordinaire sprawled across an overstuffed armchair with an empty bottle of Infe clutched in his hands. He stared unseeingly at a point above the fireplace until a sound - Harry unceremoniously dropping onto the couch - shifted the glazed gaze over to Harry. "Potter."

Harry looked at Draco by tilting his head all the way back because of his strange positioning and grinned drunkenly. "Mal of the Foy."

Despite his forlorn mood, Draco found himself chuckling at the sheer ridiculousness of Harry's greeting. It made the other boy laugh as well, until he took a break to down the rest of the Infe, which ended up leading to an uncomfortable silence.

The room seemed to rise in temperature as the time went by. In his hazy mind, the thought 'strip' managed to filter through, and he began to wrestle with the tight T-shirt he had on under his robes. He accomplished his goal minutes later, and only then did he realize - and with Ill-veiled glee - that he had a delectable audience. Darkened silver eyes were locked on his form; they raked over his body without a hint of repentance or shame. He found himself not caring that they were on his form.

One step further - he found him needing to have the other boy's gaze on him.

"Stand up Potter."

The husky command made Harry struggle to his feet without the slightest hesitation, albeit swaying drunkenly side-to-side.

"Let me help."

At first, Harry was confused as to what he was referring to, but realization struck as the taller boy pressed flush against Harry's backside, hands moving to situate themselves on his slender hips. Slowly, steadily, they slithered to the front of his jeans, and one hand pulled at the button while the other traced idle, drunken circles on his inner thigh. He moaned loudly, feeling the other boy tense at the sound, and pressed wantonly against the taunt body behind him.

Draco growled, and Harry knew then that his moan caused whatever self-restraint Draco had in those moments to snap.

Strong hands grabbed both of his arms, swiveled him around, and slammed him against the back of an armchair, causing him to take in a startled gasp of air and look behind him. His hips were pulled backward, and a whispered spell shredded his tight jeans into frayed slices of fabric. It was so arousing, so rough, so devilishly deviant…

He wanted more. He needed more of this rough treatment.

Draco Malfoy didn't give a fuck that he was Savior of the Wizarding World – that he was this supposed untouchable being who deserved to be worshipped and adored. From the way he carelessly grabbed Harry's drink, coated his fingers and cock with the sticky substance, then plunged roughly into Harry, he really didn't give a fuck at all. And Harry loved it.

Loved him.

"Draco!"

Harry doubled over. The quill in his hand was precariously close to snapping, and inkpot was dangerously close to the edge of the table, but he found himself not caring if it snapped or if ink saturated the floor. His body shook with violent tremors, trousers soiled in the aftermath of the vivid images, puffs of breath long, deep, and shaky.

Boy, did he feel good!

"Harry!"

Hermione ran over to his corner of the room with a frown on her face and her hands on her hips. Harry vaguely recognized it as the what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you stance, but didn't particular care. He was quite positive he hadn't come down from the post-orgasmic high yet.

"Harry, what is the matter with you? And why are you grinning like that? You look drunk!"

Harry blushed faintly as he muttered 'Scourgify' under his breath. "I'm fine, 'Mione. I was just a bit…tense…and needed to cool off a bit before I talked to you. "

He began to systematically pack his writing utensils in his satchel, aware of curious looks from his best friend, yet ignoring them. An uncomfortable silence hung between them until he finished his packing and swung the bag over his shoulders, looking for all the world like a well-fed cat who was ready for a nap. He turned to head out the door.

"Why are you so secretive, Harry?"

He could hear the distress in her voice. "Why won't you tell us what has become such an important part of your life? You're always sneaking around, looking over your shoulder, closing the hangings around your bed and sealing them with locking spells. What could you be doing that is so bad that you won't tell your best friends? Your…adopted brother and sister."

Harry could feel himself cracking, wanting to give into the pressure of the powerful persuasion and just spill his guts about everything; his passion for writing these novels, the joy he gets when he receives feedback, how his love for Draco fuels the fire. He wanted to, and one day he would, but it was too soon. He had just come to terms with the fact that he was in love with Draco Malfoy about eight minutes ago. Could the girl give him a break?

"Soon, Hermione," was his only reply.

"But Harry—"

The soft, peaceful smile he gave her made her snap her mouth shut in awe and wonder. "Soon."

"I hear voices. They're probably in here."

The smile vanished.

He recognized that voice. The soft spoken, yet strong tenor of Draco's best friend, Blaise. His once number one enemy. If Blaise was here on the fourth floor, then that meant…!

"Good. Come along, 'Ansy," came the sharp, cutting drawl. "We don't want a repeat of what transpired downstairs, now do we?"

Oh, damn it all to hell and back! Draco!

Hermione opened her mouth to ask what was wrong when the Slytherin Trio sauntered in, Draco in the middle as usual with Blaise and Pansy flanking both sides. The girl seemed a bit more sluggish in her movements, but also a lot closer to Draco than usual.

He fought the urge to growl.

"Hermione. Potter."

The god was greeting him. "Malfoy."

Harry couldn't help himself; he gave Draco his warmest smile. This was the third meeting he had had with the Slytherin that day, and the other boy had been nothing but civil to him, going a step further to even be friendly towards him.

Draco appeared to be even more startled than when they had their run-in at Honeydukes, which pleased him to no end. And, just like the time before, Draco returned the favor - although this time, it was a gentle smile that was heart-stopping in its softness.

If he didn't know what feelings he had towards Draco Malfoy then, he certainly knew now.

I'm in love with him. Truly.

He felt like dancing!

"I wish we could say we came for other matters than business," Draco started, making Harry instantly divert his attention to him, "but alas, we did not."

"What's the problem, Draco?" Hermione inquired, walking to stand beside Draco rather closely.

What the fuck? he thought angrily, jealously. Since when had their relationship been on a first name, friendly basis!

"It's nothing serious, 'Mione. Pansy here just tried to play a prank on Potter today, but I got there just in time to stop her."

Harry openly stared at Draco, mind tumbling like limp clothes in a Muggle dryer. 'Mione? He called her…'Mione?

Oh.

Oh…

Oh!

Fuck! When had that happened?

'Mione!

He hadn't realized he said it aloud until he noticed that the room was deadly silent. He was aware of the silver eyes locked on his form as if trying to read his inner thoughts, but he focused his attention on Hermione, who had the good grace to look sheepish as she laughed softly. "He got into the habit of calling me that over the summer."

At Harry's puzzled look, Pansy chimed in bitterly, "Head Boy and Head Girl training."

It was the first time the auburn haired girl spoke since the meeting. Hermione noticed it too, for she locked eyes with the Slytherin girl with an unreadable expression on her face.

The staring contest was over with a clearing of the throat. "Anyways," Draco continued on with a tone that booked no argument. "Speaking of Head Boy and Head Girl, as Head Boy, it is my responsibility that a…suitable punishment be issued out for the threat of harming another student.

"She is to apologize to you, Potter," Draco stated as he looked directly into Harry's eyes, "for bothering you."

Harry nodded slowly, not trusting his voice to speak when such heavenly eyes were gazing into his own, before breaking the stare with a blush and looking to Pansy. The raven-haired boy could practically taste that anger and humiliation coming off of her in waves, and for a brief minute, he felt pity for her. But there was something more to this situation than a mere prank – that he knew for sure.

"Sorry, Potter," was the nonchalant apology. She flipped her hair and swung out her hip as she did it, gaining a subtle body scan from Hermione and a swift scowl from Draco. A 'hmph' slipped out of candy pink lips, causing him to lick his own in desire, and a chuckle from Blaise caused him to look in the quiet boy's direction.

"I'll deal with you later," Draco all but hissed at the girl's impudence. Harry shivered.

"Well, we have to get going," Blaise stated a bit too cheerfully. "See you later, Potter, Hermione."

Hermione grabbed Draco's hands and held them there, looking up to him with a sly expression on her face. Draco returned the expression as he inched forward. The two just stared at each other a bit before bursting out into laughter, Hermione yanking his hands toward her to draw him into a tight embrace, which he wholeheartedly returned. He released her with a chuckle and turned for the door.

"I don't get a hug too, Draco?"

Silence.

That's it. I'm officially declaring myself insane and checking into St. Mungo's as soon as bloody possible.

What the fuck was he thinking? He had to be masochist! Yea, that was it! There was no other way to describe why he would set himself up like – arms stretched out, pouting with his green eyes boring beseechingly into stunned silver – and still going through with it, even after recognizing that he was a complete, absolute, desperate, jealous son of a bi—

— and thenhe was swept up in those arms, cocooned in the embrace and cradled like a precious child, staring deep into those eyes. He was dipped low, set in a position that made him almost as vulnerable as he would if he were thrown over the god's shoulder, silver eyes piercing into his, alight with an indescribable fire, and his warmest smile adorning his face, softening some of the rough angles and slightly pointed features. And then that mouth was moving – brushing, caressing – along his cheek until it rested atop his earring and he said, "See ya later, Harry."

Tickling the sensitized flesh at the top of his ear.

Making him moan softly, but loudly enough so that Draco, sure enough, heard it.

Causing his heart to stop somewhere along this wild ride.

And then he was gone, walking out the door with the rest of his trio.

Harry stared at the door, unaware of Hermione's calculating stare until she spoke with the most warmth he'd gotten from her all this week.

"Excellent choice, Mr. Potter. 150 points to Gryffindor."

---

To Be Continued…

I'll be going on vacation July 18 – July 25, but I'll try to write a chapter or two during that time to make up for the delay. Review!

-MercuryGoddess-